


Insanity

by Robottko



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Fake Mental illnesses, Falling Out of Love, Grey!John, Killer!Sherlock, M/M, Murder, Pining, dark!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock discovers that John isn't in love with him anymore, he snaps. He fashions a new identity for himself, and becomes the worst criminal the world has ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A proposal  that never was

**Author's Note:**

> This work began as an Omegle RP that kept me up until ungodly hours of the morning. It was totally worth it. I have many thanks to offer to Annie at slenderlock.tumblr.com for playing a lovely John. I'm sorry to say that I'm the one who ruined your lovely Sherlock. Please, enjoy.

Ch 1  
Sherlock’s POV  


 

Three years.

Sherlock Holmes walked over to his microscope, putting the ring underneath yet again to check for flaws. He had been dating John Watson for three years.

And today was the day he was going to ask John to marry him.

Satisfied that the ring was flawless, Sherlock put the ring back in its box and pocketed it, drifting aimlessly for the sofa. Throwing himself ungracefully upon the cushions, Sherlock glanced at the clock. ‘ _18.00-John should be home by now.’_ Furrowing his brow, Sherlock looked away from the clock. ‘ _Perhaps he has stopped to get milk, or talk a walk. He has been in a mood recently’._ He assured himself. And it was true; John hadn’t been his usual affectionate self. Sherlock was worried at first, but he figured John just needed a little space.

A text woke Sherlock from his thought, and he smiled when he saw John’s name. Sitting up, Sherlock opened the text, and his smile disappeared completely.

**_This isn’t working out. –JW_ **

Sherlock’s mind exploded in panicked thoughts, and his fingers were shaking so bad he could barely hold onto his phone. ‘ _Calm down’_ Sherlock told himself.   _‘You’ve misinterpreted John before. He might be talking about his job or the walk from his job to the flat. Maybe he wants to look at new flats.’_ Sherlock sucked in a breath, typing back quickly.

**_What isn’t working out, John? SH_ **

Sherlock didn’t have to wait long for the response. Two texts came in almost simultaneously.

**_This. –JW_ **

**_Us. –JW_ **

Sherlock’s lungs constricted, and he sucked in air in short breaths. John couldn’t mean that, could he?

**_What do you mean we aren’t working out? SH_ **

**_I thought our relationship was going rather nicely. SH_ **

Sherlock set his mobile down on the table in front of him, curling himself up as though the phone was a snake that would attack him. When it buzzed again, Sherlock took a deep breath, though it did little to satisfy his burning lungs, and grabbed it, flicking the text open with little care.

**_I mean we’re not compatible. Well, we were, but not anymore. –JW_ **

_‘No no no no.’_ Sherlock started to panic. What did John mean they weren’t compatible? John was perfect for him, made him better, made him human.

**_Why not? SH_ **

**_John…you’re not leaving me, are you? SH_ **

_‘He can’t leave’_ Sherlock thought desperately, waiting for John’s response. _‘I need him.’_

**_I’m sorry. –JW_ **

“John!” Sherlock cried aloud, not caring who heard him. He rapidly sent two texts.

**_You can’t leave! SH_ **

**_I need you! SH_ **

Sherlock was trembling now, his body shaking the couch frame violently.

**_No you don’t. –JW_ **

**_You need stimulation-whatever kind of stimulation that implies. Mental, sexual, whatever. –JW_ **

**_Anyone can give you that. –JW_ **

Did John not realise how much Sherlock needed him? Did he not realise that John kept him from going insane? Did he not understand that Sherlock wanted no one but him?

**_No, John. They cannot. SH_ **

**_I tried for years to find someone that could stimulate me, and you’re the only one that can. SH_ **

Sherlock froze before sending off another text.

**_Did I do something wrong? SH_ **

Sherlock felt hallow. What had he done to make John not want him anymore?

**_It’s not you. –JW_ **

Giving a hallow laugh, Sherlock sent off another text.

**_Yes it is. What can I do? SH_ **

**_I cannot live without you. SH_ **

The response came quickly.

**_No, it’s not. –JW_ **

Sherlock wanted to scream in frustration. Of course it was his fault, he drove everyone away from him. If John would just tell him what he had done wrong, maybe he could do better.

**_It’s your feelings towards me. SH_ **

**_I assure you…I can change. Be better. SH_ **

Maybe John would accept that. Sherlock would be a better boyfriend, fetch the milk every day, always remember to clean his experiments off the kitchen table.

**_No. You don’t have to do anything. –JW_ **

“Yes I do, John.” Sherlock mumbled to his phone, tapping a message quickly.

**_John, I’ve done something wrong. I need to fix it. Please let me fix it. SH_ **

**_Where are you? SH_ **

Sherlock paced the sitting room now, unable to think. He needed to find John, to talk to him.

**_You haven’t done anything wrong. –JW_ **

**_You can’t fix anything. Nothing’s broken. We just don’t work anymore. –JW_ **

**_I’ll be out of your hair in a few days. –JW_ **

Sherlock felt something snap inside him.

**_No! SH_ **

**_John, I love you. SH_ **

**_Please don’t leave me. SH_ **

John’s next text is what shattered Sherlock completely.

**_And I loved you. –JW_ **

**_Loved? SH_ **

**_Loved. –JW_ **

Sherlock grabbed the nearest object and chucked it at the wall, hearing it hit with a satisfying crunch. He looked up, seeing a nice new hole in the wall, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. John didn’t love him anymore, what was the point in caring? His brain began to delete haphazardly, and he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what it got rid of.

Sherlock Holmes was going insane.  
And he liked it.


	2. Growing Colder

 

Ch 2

John’s POV

John slumped down on a bench in the park, cradling his head in his hands. He breathed deeply in an attempt to keep the overwhelming anxiety and depression away. It wasn’t helping.

 _‘Oh god, what have I done?’_ John thought, his mobile feeling heavy in his pocket. He knew he had made the right choice, however hard it would be. He wanted to be selfish, to keep Sherlock to himself forever, but the depression that he thought had disappeared so long ago was back, threatening to overtake him. He couldn’t subject Sherlock to that. Sherlock didn’t deserve a life stuck to an ex-army doctor who suffered from PTSD and depression. Sherlock needed someone who could keep up with him mentally, someone who could assist in cases. John wasn’t any of that. He wasn’t needed.

It had been hours since he had last texted Sherlock, and John felt worried. _‘You have no right to worry.’_ He scolded himself.  Sherlock wasn’t his anymore, he didn’t deserve to worry.

Suddenly John’s mobile buzzed, and the man pulled it out with fumbling hands. _Sherlock._

**_John, someone stole your heart, didn’t they? SH_ **

John looked at the text, feeling horror rise up in his chest. Sherlock thought that he had left him for another person? Did he really find John so frivolous?

**_What? No. There isn’t anyone else. I swear. –JW_ **

It seemed only a few seconds later that John received a response.

**_Then why don’t you love me anymore? SH_ **

‘ _It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s that I_ can’t _love you._ ’ John sighed, quickly typing a response.

**_I don’t know. –JW_ **

It was the closest thing to the truth.  He didn’t know, _couldn’t_ know why he was feeling this way. He needed to get away, to stop feeling so useless. John gazed at his phone, waiting for a response from Sherlock. After ten minutes, he got a bit restless, and he stood up, continuing on his journey to god-knows-where. He had barely begun walking before his phone buzzed once more. Snorting, he dug out his mobile; Sherlock always did have impeccable timing.

**_I am sorry. SH_ **

John sighed, shaking his head slowly.

**_Don’t apologise. You’ve done nothing wrong. –JW_ **

John pocketed his mobile once more, wondering it Sherlock would let it drop. It wasn’t two seconds before another reply came in.

**_I obviously have, John. Do not lie to me. SH_ **

Shaking his head, John ignored Sherlock’s last text. No matter how had he tried, he could see that Sherlock would never stop blaming himself. Continuing on his aimless walk, John found himself in front of New Scotland Yard, and he smiled fondly at the building. As if he knew where John was, another text from Sherlock pulled him from his thoughts.

**_You’re going to need a job. I’ve referred you to Lestrade. They are going to need all the help they can get soon, they’re unbelievably moronic. SH_ **

John frowned, re-reading the message several times. What on earth was that man going on about with the ‘I’ve referred you to Lestrade.’ Did Sherlock know something that he didn’t?

**_I’m not joining the Yard. –JW_ **

Didn’t Sherlock realise that it would be difficult to be around him every day? Did he think that everything would go back to their casual friendship?

**_They’ll be lost without you John. All crimes will go unsolved. SH_ **

John wanted to scream. Why was Sherlock being so difficult? He typed a message quickly, hoping Sherlock would understand, finally let it go.

**_No. They don't need me. They'd be lost without you. You're the one who solves all the crimes. You're the one who makes amazing deductions. You're the one who knows everything about everyone. You're the one everyone knows about. They need you. Me? I'm not important. I'm nothing. They don't need me. No one needs me. -JW_ **

_‘There you are, Sherlock.’_ John thought bitterly, _‘The cold awful truth right in front of you.’_ John sat down on the kerb in front of the Yard, his mobile clutched in his hand. Several texts from Sherlock arrived, but John couldn’t look at them now, terrified of what he might see. Slowly he lifted the phone, pressing the button that would allow him to see the texts.

**_You’re an idiot. SH_ **

**_Your deduction skills are far above anyone else’s, excluding mine. SH_ **

**_You’re far too good for me. It’s what everyone says. No one can stand to be around me without you. SH_ **

**_They’ll need you, when I’m gone. Help them. SH_ **

John’s breathing became shallow, and he couldn’t think. He had nothing to respond with, no clever way to tell Sherlock that he was being an idiot, and he needed to stop.

**_Stop it. I know you don’t mean any of this. –JW_ **

The next text came quickly, as they usually did when Sherlock was excited or aggravated.

**_I mean every word I say. SH_ **

Standing up from the kerb, John began walking towards Harry’s flat. He couldn’t go back to the flat, not tonight.

**_Stop. –JW_ **

John wasn’t sure if Sherlock was even reading his texts anymore, or if he was just rambling as he always had.

**_They’ll be far happier when it’s you instead of me. SH_ **

_‘Stop lying to me, Sherlock.’_ A desperate John thought.

**_Stop. –JW_ **

But Sherlock would never listen.

**_I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you. SH_ **

John let out a bitter laugh, startling some tourists nearby him. Why couldn’t Sherlock just accept the fact that John was leaving. Sherlock didn’t need him, and he would realise that soon enough.

**_There’s nothing wrong with you, you idiot. –JW_ **

**_It’s me, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. –JW_ **

John wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the text he received from Sherlock wasn’t that.

**_John, there is nothing wrong with you, other than the fact that you’re unfairly perfect. SH_ **

‘ _Perfect? I am far from perfect!’_ John thought, tapping away at his mobile quickly.

**_I am not perfect in any way. –JW_ **

The response came seconds later.

**_You are perfect in every way. SH_ **

Anger swirled up in John. Was Sherlock mocking him? Making fun of his weaknesses?

**_I'm a washed up crippled ex-army doctor with PTSD who can barely keep down a job to pay for rent. In what way, exactly, am I supposed to be 'special'? –JW_ **

**_I was only ever your pet. –JW_ **

Regretting it immediately, John began typing out an apology, but a text from Sherlock stopped him in his tracks.

**_You actually listened to Moriarty? In the end, he fooled you too. SH_ **

John felt bad. Typing quickly, he tried to refute what Sherlock believed.

**_Moriarty didn’t fool anyone. –JW_ **

He hoped Sherlock would understand what he was trying to say. He never believed Sherlock was a fake, never truly believed that Sherlock hadn’t cared for him.

**_He fooled everyone except for you. Or so I believed. SH_ **

**_And in the end, he was right. The only thing that separated us was my heart, and now I’ve lost that, too. SH_ **

Swallowing thickly, John’s insides churned. What the hell was Sherlock getting at, suggesting he was even remotely like Moriarty?

**_He was wrong. You’re nothing like him. You’re not a psychopath that kills for fun. For fucks sake, you’re not even a sociopath. You cared for me. –JW_ **

Sherlock’s response was immediate.

**_I still care. SH_ **

And so was John’s.

**_It doesn’t matter anymore. –JW_ **

It hurt. He knew it would hurt Sherlock just as much. He knew his point hit home when he read the next text from the consulting detective.

**_You’re right. It doesn’t. Please stay away from Baker Street. I don’t want you seeing me. SH_ **

Smiling bitterly, John found himself in front of Harry’s place. He would probably have to get Mrs. Hudson to send his things.

**_And I don’t want you seeing me. Goodbye Sherlock. –JW_ **

**_But remember, I did love you. –JW_ **

He sighed, waiting for the response, wondering if Sherlock would delete him immediately, or if it would take him a few days.

**_Goodbye, John. Remember that I will always love you. Please remember me for who I was, not who I will become. SH_ **

John couldn’t respond to that. He shut off his phone, placing it in his pocket and knocking on Harry’s door.

\--

Waking up at someone else’s flat was always a disconcerting feeling for John, and waking up at Harry’s was no exception. Groaning slightly, he grabbed for his phone and turned it on, surprised to see how late it was the next day.

Texts and miss phone calls started to flood his phone, all of them from earlier that morning. He only caught snatches of the names before it was replaced with someone else’s text. _Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft._ But none from Sherlock. Sighing slightly, John ignored the texts, calling Lestrade to find out what was going on.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.” The voice said. John grew worried, his voice sounded haggared.

“Greg, it’s John Watson, what’s going on?”

A small intake of breath startled John. “Oh my god, you’re ok.” The voice choked out.

“Yes yes, I’m fine. I’m at Harry’s. What’s happening?” John grew slightly panicked.

“We saw all the blood, and we weren’t sure if any of it belonged to you.” Greg continued to babble. “You weren’t answering your calls, so we assumed-“

“What HAPPENED _,_ Greg?” John cut off the Detective Inspector. The silence lasted for several seconds.

“Sherlock’s gone.” Lestrade whispered finally. “We believe he’s been murdered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you so much for reading. You are truly lovely! I believe this is the last of the texting, and we should be getting into the really good stuff soon. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Forever yours,  
> Robottko


	3. A hero falls...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A villain rises.

Ch. 3

John’s POV

The first thing John noticed was the blood. It was everywhere, almost an inhuman amount. He swallowed, trying not to breathe through his nose as he stepped into 221B Baker Street.

“It seems like this was the first of many murders.” Lestrade said, standing in the middle of the flat, ignoring the papers and broken glass under his first. “We’ve got two more this morning like this.”

“Like what?” John asked sharply. “It looks as though there was a struggle, but nothing extraordinary to link it to anything.”

“You…you haven’t seen everything.” Lestrade said, his eyes flicking towards the kitchen. “There was a message.”

“Where is it at?” John moved toward the kitchen, looking around for the message.

“The bedroom. It’s…it’s written in blood.”

John frowned, walking towards Sherlock’s bedroom with purpose, hesitating in front of the door. Steeling his nerves, John pushed the door in gently, the smell of death hitting his nostrils with sheer force, causing him to gag.

_Sherlock..._

The words were scrawled haphazardly on the wall, brown from age and air. John doubled over; emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor, and grief overtook him.

**A hero falls, a villain rises. –JH**

“There are about 5 liters of blood in the flat.” Lestrade said grimly from behind John. “We think ‘JH’ drained him before-” He broke off in defeat, gesturing around him. “God, who would do this?”

“I don’t know.” John shook his head, wiping at his mouth with his jumper sleeve. “But I want this man dead. And I want to be the one to kill him.” John turned his back on the message, not wanting to see it ever again. “What did the other messages say?”

“I would rather not repeat them.” Lestrade looked ill. “Let’s just say they were as well thought out as this one.”

“Right.” John breathed. “Right. God, you’re sure this is all Sherlock’s blood?”

“I wish I wasn’t, John.” Lestrade moaned. “But it is.”

\--

Later that afternoon, John found himself walking around London, going nowhere. He had been walking for hours now, and his legs were tired. He couldn’t bring himself to stop, as if the thoughts would catch up to him if he stopped walking. Turning down a small alley, John rubbed his eyes with one hand, not seeing the body until it was too late.

“Fuck.” John hissed, scrambling away from the bloody mess. It was a man in his thirties, and he looked as if he had a nice professional job, judging by the now blood-stained suit. John’s eyes were drawn to the man’s face. Why did he look so familiar?

_Sebastian Wilke_

John leaned against the wall, taking in deep breaths. It was that old friend of Sherlock’s that had worked at the bank. _‘Correction’_ John thought. _‘Old enemy’. They had hated each other in Uni.’_

John gulped down a few breaths, trying to settle his stomach. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile to call Lestrade when he felt something warm and wet drip onto his neck. John reached a hand around, wiping the thick liquid off his neck to examine it.

It was blood.

He stumbled away from the wall in horror. He looked up to see a message not unlike the one that was in his flat.

**The world was getting boring, John. Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. –JH**

John stared at the message in horror. Was it addressed to him? _‘There are a lot of John’s in the world.’_ He reminded himself. _‘It could be for anyone.’_ But he knew that wasn’t the case. He knew that this sick, twisted message was for him.

Heart pounding, John backed out of the alley, preparing to run when he saw another messaged scrawled across the building across from him.

**John Watson, you are mine. –JH**

\--

The next few hours are a blur, and John wasn’t sure how he made it back to Harry’s flat. Sitting in Harry’s lounge, he notices that Lestrade is talking to him, but he has no idea what he’s saying. He realises that what the Yard needs is important, but he cannot bring himself to care.

“I…I need to go to bed.” John manages weakly, and Lestrade nods, watching as John disappears down the hall.

Safely enclosed in his room, John paced quickly around the room, trying to make sense of what happened. _‘Who is this man?’_ He wondered, _‘and what does he want with me?_ ’

He was so lost in thought that it took him 10 minutes to notice the note on his bed.  Freezing, John grabbed the piece of paper, his hands shaking when he noticed the familiar handwriting. Even though the paper contained only two words, John knew who it was from.

**Look outside.**

He looked up at the window, his eyes wide with panic. There, in the tree, a man stood dressed in black leather, his back towards John.

John moved slowly. Maybe the man hadn’t seen him. Maybe he could still go to Lestrade. _‘Futile.’_ He thought. Slowly, the man turned toward John, a crazed smirk on his face, and John nearly fainted.

“Sherlock.” John cried softly, opening up his window.

“Oh god, no.” Sherlock laughed. “I changed my name, John. A sort of tribute to you, I might say.” John noticed the blankness in Sherlock’s expression, the evil in his smirk. He looked far too much like Moriarty, and John balked.

“My new name is John Harrison.” Sherlock said. “And I have come for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a touch shorter than the others, so forgive me for that. Also, I'm really sorry. I have an obsession with cliff hangers (as you might have noticed.) It's a terrible thing, and I totally die when other authors do it. I love each and every one of you, and thank you to those who left reviews. You made my entire day! 
> 
> Popsicle stands and cherry coke cans,  
> Robottko


	4. A villain rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrison smiled, a terrifying sight. "And I shall take what is mine."

**Ch. 4**

**J ohn Harrison's POV**

Harrison gazed down at John, a smile playing across his face. It was sweet, really, to see the mix of terror and excitement. His eyes followed John as the man stumbled back, tripping backward onto the floor.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” John asks softly, acceptance in his eyes. “You have my permission.”

“Oh god, no.” Harrison says, looking down at the man in horror.

“It wouldn’t be that much of a waste.” John argued with Harrison.

“But it would, John.” Harrison said softly, leaping through the window and landing gracefully on the carpet. “You are the only bright spot in the world. I cannot, however, guarantee the safety of your future partners.”

“Future partners?” John raised an eyebrow. Harrison couldn’t help but admire how surprised he looked. Of course Harrison might not let John date, but he really didn’t think that’s why John was so surprised. “I didn’t know you could joke.”

“Yes, one of those frilly things you used to go out with. You’ll start dating again soon…at least, you’ll try.” Harrison grinned wickedly. He wouldn’t allow John to date one woman for too long; it would make her inevitable death so much harder on the ex-army doctor. And he didn’t want to hurt John.

“I don’t think so.” John said, standing slowly. “Nothing will ever compare to how I felt with you.”

There is was, that blasted past tense again! John Harrison could feel Sherlock inside of him sob with grief, but that’s why Sherlock was dead, wasn’t it? Because he was weak.

“I was under the impression you thought I was a machine.” Harrison said, quashing the sadness from Sherlock, shoving it deeper into himself.

“I did, perhaps…once.” John mused, his eyes going unfocused, clearly lost in thought. “But not anymore.”

“Now I am a monster.” Harrison said, watching John carefully. He wondered if the short blond would try and alert Lestrade and Harry to what was happening in the small bedroom. But John didn’t seem to be going anywhere. _He likes me better than you, Sherlock. See how he stays?_ He thought maliciously to the remaining bit of Sherlock in him.

“This is my fault.” John said softly, “I am so sorry.”

“I told you to stop apologising, John.” Harrison said impatiently. “If anything, the world should be bowing before you. You stopped the inevitable, at least for a while.” Turning on his heel, Harrison paces the small bedroom, taking everything in at a leisurely pace. “Can you imagine London if both Moriarty and I were on the prowl?” He hummed, a small smile on his face. “A city bathed in red.”

“You’d be fantastic together.” John says softly, interrupting his thoughts. Harrison can’t help but laugh.

“Oh no. I would kill him.”

“Or he would kill you.” John offers.

“Oh John.” Harrison’s voice is condescending. “That is an adorable notion.”

John looks thoughtful, and he concedes. “You’re right. You’re better than him.”

“No, Johnny boy.” Harrison shook his head. “I am much worse.”

“Johnny boy? You’re starting to sound like him…” John said, shaking his head. “Why are you here? Come to make me your next victim?”

“I won’t murder you, Johnny.” Harrison sighed dramatically. He loathed repeating himself. “You’re far too…precious to hurt. Maybe I’ll build a castle just for you, and you can watch England burn.”

“I would rather be murdered by you than by myself.” John said. Harrison’s eyes narrowed at John. That would not be allowed.

“No one is touching you, sweet. Least of all you.” He promised. “I have eyes everywhere. It turns out that my homeless network make marvellous henchmen. And you, my love, will make the perfect trophy.” 

Harrison enjoyed the way John’s eyes widened at his statement, as though he didn’t expect it. Maybe he didn’t. He never was as clever at Sherlock was.

“T-trophy?” John stammered.

“Yes. I told you I couldn’t live without you, and it turns out I was correct.” Harrison snorted. “As always.” He stopped his pacing, focusing all of his attentions on John. He watched as John’s adams apple bounced; Harrison’s piecing gaze causing his nerves to rise. “I must make you mine again.”

“If you want me, I’m yours.” John whispered. Harrison had not been expecting that. He had believed John would put up a fight. After all, it was only yesterday that he was dismissing Sherlock, and they did share a face.

“So you have an insanity fetish?” Harrison asked in disbelief. “Oh Johnny boy, you don’t _really_ expect me to fall for that, do you?”

“Fetish?” John was confused. “No…it’s just…I’ve never been needed before.”

“Then you clearly don’t pay attention.” Harrison resumed his pacing. “Sherlock Holmes needed you more….you kept him sane.”

“I suppose it’s too late to change that now, is it?” John said, freezing Harrison in his tracks.

“Change me back into Sherlock Holmes?” Harrison’s voice was icy. “Why would you want to do that? He was an imbecile, a fool!”

“I loved him.” John said simply.

“Ah, there’s that word again. Loved.” Harrison said, ignoring how Sherlock’s feelings wrung at his heart. “You did not love Sherlock Holmes. He was unworthy of your love. He was a _nothing._ You only want him back so you can break him again.” The feelings were strong, and Harrison marched back to the window. Clearly he had to break Sherlock a little more before he could capture John. “You cannot, however, break me.”

“I know.” John said softly. “But you want me, you need me. And I am yours.”

Harrison smiled, a terrifying sight. “And I shall take what is mine. Poor Lestrade, he won’t even get your help. He’ll have no idea where you vanished to.”

“Don’t kill him.” John said, his spine straightening.

“Oh, not tonight.” Harrison said, stepping up into the window. “But maybe later. Until then, love.” And Harrison disappeared into the night, leaving a confused and nervous John in his wake.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your beautiful comments. Seriously, I cannot believe you are still reading this, let alone enjoying it! I hope this chapter is what you were hoping for, and I will continue to type away to get the chapters to you as fast as possible!
> 
> Cinnamon sticks and candle wicks,
> 
> Robottko


	5. A new proposal

Ch. 5

John Watson’s POV

Weeks went by, and John didn’t hear anything from Harrison. Murders under the initials ‘J.H.’ continued to occur with an alarming frequency. The cause of death changed with each victim. Some were drowned, others buried alive. One unfortunate soul was skinned alive, slowly cut to pieces before being put out of their misery. It made him sick.

John never told Lestrade that it was Sherlock...or what was left of Sherlock, committing these murders. At first, John managed to convince himself that it was because he didn’t think Lestrade would believe him. Sherlock Holmes was dead, the whole world knew that.

But he wasn’t. At least, not physically. Sherlock’s body was still very much alive. His mind, however, was a different story. John didn’t believe Sherlock was entirely dead. He had seen flickers of emotion behind those blank eyes. But that had been nearly a month ago. Who knew how much of Sherlock’s humanity lingered. Had John Harrison destroyed it all?

With a deep sigh, John stood from the chair he had been sitting in. He had yet to find a place to stay, and though Harry had been allowing him to stay at her place, they were driving each other crazy.

“I’m going to take a walk!” John called down the hall, striding to the table where he had left his Browning. Tucking the gun into the waistband of his trousers, he snatched up his mobile, pocketing it before turning towards the hall once more. There was no response from Harry’s room, as usual.

 _‘Passed out drunk. And it isn’t even noon.’_ John thought, shaking his head as he walked out the door.

His walks these days were more aimless. Before, John would usually have a destination in mind. Sometimes the Thames, more often he went to one of the many parks London had to offer. Now, John walks without thought. His legs carry him through London as his mind wanders. It isn’t a safe tactic, but John has never been keen on playing it safe.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket, and John frowned at the device. Most likely Lestrade, checking up on him once again.  He pulled the phone out, opening up the message with a flick of his finger.

**_Where are you? JH_ **

John wanted to laugh, even though the message wasn’t particularly funny. After weeks of not hearing from the man, he suddenly receives a text message. There’s nothing eloquent about it, and it seems as though their conversations never ended, as if he texted just yesterday.

**_Why would I tell you? JW_ **

John sent his response, knowing full well that Harrison would find him anyway. It was only a matter of time. His phone buzzed merrily only a few seconds later.

**_Because I don’t want to track you. I will if I have to, love. JH_ **

John’s frown deeps, and he glanced around at his surroundings. Somewhere in the middle of London, just as grey and bleak as his thoughts.

**_If I tell you where I am, will you kill me? JW_ **

It’s almost embarrassingly desperate, but John sends the message anyway. Perhaps if he asked enough, Harrison would take pity on him.

**_Oh sweetie, no! I could never kill you. Why would you want to die? JH_**

John grit his teeth together, typing a quick response.

**_Why do you think? I’m not telling you where I am. JW_ **

He had barely sent the message when his phone vibrated again. John stared at the new message icon for a few seconds before opening the text.

 **_Please don’t tell me this is about Sherlock_ ** **again. _I assumed you left the idiot because you wanted a better life. JH_**

John laughed humourlessly. Did John Harrison really not know how John felt about Sherlock?

**_Of course not. Living with Sherlock Holmes was the best part of my life. JW_ **

John could almost predict Harrison’s response. Sure enough, when the text came through a minute later, it was exactly what John predicted.

**_No one wanted to live with Sherlock Holmes. Not even Sherlock Holmes. You really are a terrible liar, it’s sweet. JH_ **

John shook his head at the message. Typing a quick response.

**_I did at one point. He was amazing. JW_ **

John sent the message, but his fingers hovered over the buttons. He wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

**_But I think you’re better. JW_ **

There it was. It was the truth, too. John Harrison had a way of making John feel alive. He supposed it was the danger, the threat to his wellbeing. Sherlock had kept him far too safe, coddling him, calling the danger to himself as opposed to letting John join in. Harrison didn’t seem to be going down that same path.

John was startled out of his revere when his mobile vibrated in his hand.

**_I am better, Johnny baby. Gotcha. JH_ **

John’s heart leapt in his chest, and his eyes quickly scanned the surrounding buildings, looking for a familiar figure. There, in the shadow of a dark alley, stood John Harrison. His eyes were fixed on John, watching his every movement diligently. John swallowed thickly, unable to move his legs.

“Don’t look so surprised, John.” Harrison clucked. “You knew that I was planning to come and get you. You’re not so clueless as to know what taking a hostage involves, are you?”

John watched the taller man, his emotions slowly draining out of him until he felt nothing. “You’re going to threaten to kill me?” He asked. “Because we both know how that’s going to end.”

Harrison moved swiftly, moving from the alley to the space in front of John in a matter of seconds. He looked up at the face that was so familiar, and so foreign at the same time.

“Oh John,” Harrison’s voice was impossibly low. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m asking you to join me. You don’t get a choice, of course, but I thought it would be _polite_ to ask.”

“Since when do you care about being polite?” John couldn’t help but tease the man as he regained movement, slipping his mobile back into his pocket. John could feel his shoulders relax, even though adrenaline coursed through his veins, warning his body that he was in imminent danger.

“Only when it comes to you, Johnny boy.” Harrison smirked at John. “Join me? I think you would make a rather dashing addition to my crew.”

“I’ve got rather good aim.” John said, and he could feel himself smirk back in response. The adrenaline in his body shifted, and a new feeling rose up in him. This feeling of being wanted, of being needed; it caused his heart to race in the most wonderful way, and he felt more alive than he had in years.

“That you do. What say you? Join me, and we’ll rule this world.” Harrison grinned, holding out a long fingered hand for John to shake.

John eyed Harrison’s hand warily. The man wouldn’t kill him, that was obvious, and the idea of having purpose again made something in his brain click. He took Harrison’s hand, a genuine smile on his face.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

John felt Harrison squeeze his hand briefly, before letting go. A deep chuckle sounded from the man, as rich as Sherlock’s ever was, but much darker.

“Beautiful.” Harrison said. “Now, we’re going to be busy very soon here. Anyone you want to kill before we get too busy?”

John bit his lip, debating. Was there someone he wanted to kill? Not for vengeance, no. But there were a few people that would try and get in his way.

“Lestrade.” John said finally, a chill going through him. “Sentiment. If I’m to be with you, I can’t have any ties left to cut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Next chapter contains character death.
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. I am so sorry this chapter has taken so long. My other fanfics have been kicking my butt, and this one has been neglected because of it. I love each and every one of you! 
> 
> Love always,  
> Robottko


	6. The Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the 'Star Trek: Into Darkness' Opening, I present a new chapter!  
> So sorry if I got the characterization of John Harrison wrong. This was create in January, and all we knew about him was that he was the bad guy.

Ch. 6

John Harrison’s POV

“Lestrade?” Harrison could feel a grin spreading across his face.  A good choice for John’s first murder, certainly. “Poor Mycroft, he’ll be absolutely _heartbroken._ That is, until I kill him. Come on John, we don’t want Lestrade to wait too long, do we?”

“No we don’t.” John agreed with him, and they both started to walk towards the Yard. “Do you want me to be there when you kill him?”

“Mycroft. Oh no, that’s my own special treat. I will be there when you kill Lestrade, though.” Harrison said dispassionately.

“Me?” John said, his voice slightly higher than normal. Harrison looked down at him inquisitively. “I thought you were going to kill him.”

“Oh no, that’s your pleasure.” Harrison grinned wickedly. “I don’t really care one way or the other if Lestrade lives, but to see you kill him...” He broke off with a small shudder.

“How would I…how would I do it?” John asked, and Harrison could sense the nervousness in his voice. John had never killed for entertainment before, and Harrison knew that this was an entirely new experience.

“Aim your gun and pull the trigger?” Harrison mock-suggested, his voice slightly frosty. “It really isn’t that hard, Johnny. The best part is watching the life drain out of them.”

Harrison noted a small tremor run through John, though from excitement or fear, he didn’t know. “In front of him, or from a distance?”

“Oh, point blank.” Harrison said with conviction. “Watching their pathetic faces light up in recognition, slowly turning to terror as they realise what you are about to do…”

“Would you like to accompany me, Mr Harrison?” John asked, causing the taller man to look over at him with a grin.

Harrison turned towards John, forcing him to stop walking. He leaned down, their noses grazing each other’s. “I would be delighted.” He said, brushing his lips against John’s quickly before turning around, continuing their trek towards the Met.

“Where do you think he is?” John asked, trailing behind Harrison.

“Oh, at the Met, I suppose. The idiot never seems to go anywhere else, it seems. It’s quite close.” Harrison frowned, glancing back at John. “What were you doing so close to the Met?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise…” John said, and Harrison glanced back at him, watching the emotions pass over his face before turning to see The New Scotland Yard appear before them. “Do you have all of Sherlock’s memories?”

“I may be insane, but I’m hardly stupid.” Harrison snorted. “I deleted some stuff, but the important things I kept.”

“Important things?” John asked inquisitively.

“Oh, you know, Deduction, Observation…you…” Harrison smirked at the small look of shock on John’s face.

“Right. Well, I suppose I was nearby because it was so familiar…” John said, causing Harrison to groan.

“God, I probably would have come here too. Thank god Holmes was in the midst of deleting emotions when I took over, or I would have. The idiot should have known he wasn’t enough for you.” Harrison grabbed the door, pulling it open for John to walk through.

“You have to hide somewhere.” John said, turning towards him. “They think you’re dead.”

“They never found a body.” Harrison argued, quirking an eyebrow. “And Lestrade will be so thrilled to find ‘Sherlock’ alive, he won’t question it.”

“Fine…pretend to be him then.” John said, causing Harrison to grin.

“Oh John.” Harrison began, manipulating his voice to sound more like Sherlock’s. “You’re perfect. Oh John, you’re wonderful. Marry me, John!” Harrison rolled his eyes. “I’ve got that down. Now let’s go.”

John shot Harrison a funny look, but the brunette didn’t have the patience to interpret it, choosing instead to walk through the halls quickly, making their way up the familiar path towards Lestrade’s office.

“Greg.” John said as soon as they reached the door, knocking softly. “Can I have a word with you?”

A grunt of affirmation floated out from behind the door, and Harrison watched John open it, staying just out of sight.

“I know where this new…killer is. What’s more, I know who he is.” John said, and Harrison imagined Lestrade’s eyebrows shooting up in interest.

“Really, who is it?” Lestrade asked, and sure enough, he was excited.

“His name is John Harrison.” John began, and Harrison stepped around the corner, enjoying the way Lestrade jumped when he saw him.

“Sherlock?!” Lestrade began, his eyes lighting up with an odd mixture of joy and anger. “I thought you were dead!”

“Sherlock is dead, Detective Inspector.” Harrison said, examining his nails with disinterest. “My name is John Harrison. John, if you would.” Harrison looked up at John, pleased to see that the short blond had his gun drawn, the safety off.  His eyes flicked back to Lestrade, grinning at the horror and confusion he found on the older man’s face.

“I would say I’m sorry, Detective Inspector, but I’m rather not. Sherlock would have been sad to see you go, but I killed him…well, with a little help from Johnny boy, here.” Harrison smiled at Lestrade.

Lestrade opened his mouth, prepared to say something, possibly yell for help, but John was faster. Before Harrison could even blink, John had emptied four rounds into the centre of Lestrade’s chest, shooting a fifth bullet into Lestrade’s forehead for good measure. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

“How do you feel, John?” Harrison asked as the body hit the ground, blood seeping onto the floor.

“Like I could do anything.” John panted, “Is this how you always feel?”

Harrison chuckled softly, walking around the desk to view the body better. Lestrade’s eyes were wide open, the shock and terror still visible.

“At first, perhaps. After a while it depends on who you kill.” Harrison bent down, sweeping Lestrade’s silver fringe away from his forehead lovingly, gazing down at the clean bullet wound with interest. “So handsome…no wonder my brother was so fond of him. How dull.”

Harrison could hear people shouting nearby. He frowned slightly, looking at the window with interest. Though Lestrade’s office was several floors up, the jump wouldn’t be too difficult.

“Time to go?” John’s voice broke through Harrison’s thoughts, and he nodded, opening the window.

“We’ll have to jump.” Harrison said as John walked over to him, stepping over Lestrade’s prone body as he went. Harrison wrapped an arm around John’s waist, leaping out of the window with catlike grace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it completely terrible that the entire time I wrote this, all I could think was "im sad that i had to killl him but itwas to maek the plot more intresting" from 'Flowers in a Box'?
> 
> Yes? Yeah, sorry about that.  
> Just know that I love each and every one of you. Your reviews make me smile like none other.
> 
> Yours forever,  
> Robottko


	7. A gift at 221B

Ch. 7

John Watson’s POV

They landed with a thud on the ground, and John rolled to the side, his breath temporarily leaving him. Sucking in a few quick breaths, he looked over at Harrison, who looked completely unruffled.

“That was easier in the army days.” John said after a moment. “It’ll get easier in time, I suppose.”

“How many buildings do you plan on jumping out of?” Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow at the shorter blond.

“As many as you want me to.” John responded with a laugh.

“Hopefully not too many then.” Harrison said, his lips quirking. “I rather wish to keep my precious John intact.”

“Of course.” John said, grinning from the rush of adrenaline and need. It felt amazing. “I’ll try not to get killed.”

“Oh no, there is no try. You will not allow yourself to be killed.” Harrison warned, his voice low. He whirled around, striding a few paces before freezing in place, pain and annoyance clear on his face. John frowned, walking towards Harrison in concern. “Dammit.”

“Is everything alright?” John asked softly.

“Yes.” Harrison hissed, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “You Sherlock is stronger than I thought, apparently. Poor dear is _heartbroken_ at the death of Lestrade. Tedious sentiment not worth my time.” Harrison straightened once again, striding away from the Met.

The idea that Sherlock was still inside Harrison sent an odd, conflicting thrill through John. One side of him wanted his old detective back, the other half siding with Harrison, enjoying the thrill of the kill.

“Hurry up, sweetie.” Harrison said, turning around with a wicked grin. “We’ve got the British government to kill.”

“I thought that you said that was your job, and your job alone.” John said, running a hand through his short blond locks. He wondered what would be left of Sherlock if Mycroft was killed…if anything was left at all.

“It is.” Harrison said with a shrug. “But before I go off and do that, I have something to show you first. A present, if you will.”

John walked alongside Harrison, quickly realising the familiar path they were taking. He had walked the route from the Met to 221B Baker Street with Sherlock more times than he could count.

“What is it?” John asked not five minutes later. He was rewarded with a smug grin.

“Oh, a little something I whipped up.” Harrison responded vaguely, quickening his pace so that it was getting difficult for John to keep up. “I know you’ll _love_ it.”

An uneasy feeling began to grow in John’s gut, but he pushed it aside, practically jogging to keep up with the taller man. Harrison moved at a brisk pace, his coat billowing out behind him. When they finally made it to Baker Street, Harrison glanced back at the blond, a smirk on his face.

“Oh hush, Johnny boy.” He said with an eye roll. “Just relax. It’s not as if this gift is from Sherlock.”

If John was being completely honest with himself, he would have been reminded that he was _never_ nervous for a gift from Sherlock. He watched Harrison unlock the door with slight trepidation. This special surprise was from Harrison, and it was beginning to make him terrified.

“Take my hand, love.” Harrison said, his long fingers wiggling invitingly. John watched the hand for a brief second before clasping it with his own. The brunette hummed in contentment, guiding John up the staircase.

The flat at 221B Baker Street was a complete disaster. It was clear that the Yard didn’t bother to tidy things up when they left. Torn book leaves were scattered about the room, and John could still see fragments of bloody handprints on the wall. Though he knew now that it was a ruse, John still shuddered at the sight.

“ _Such_ a temper tantrum we threw.” Harrison clucked, dragging John towards the darkened corner where he knew the telly sat. “He didn’t want to leave, but I _forced_ the issue.”

With a quick shove, John stumbled forward. He realised belatedly that the corner wasn’t dark from lack of light, but from sheets hiding the structure behind it.

“In you go!” Harrison said cheerfully, and John turned just in time to see the taller man latch a barred door shut. He grabbed the sheets, pulling them away so John could see the predicament he was in.

John Harrison had trapped him in a makeshift prison cell.

“Don’t be offended, sweetie.” Harrsion sing-songed. “I just have to make sure you don’t leave me like you left Sherlock. He misses you terribly, did you know?”

John just stared blankly at the menacing smile that graced Harrison’s face. How could he have let himself get into this situation? He should have known better.

“Oh, look at the time.” Harrison said, glancing at his mobile. “I really must go. Brothers to kill, governments to dismantle.” And with a parting wave, Harrison swept through the door to the lounge of 221B, leaving a confused and scared John imprisoned in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all incredibly amazing, and I am so blessed to have you as kudo-givers, subscribers and bookmarkers! Seriously, go look in a mirror right now, smile at yourself, then tell yourself that you are a beautiful human being for me. We only have a few more chapters before I wrap this baby up! Until next time!
> 
> Chocolate sauce and peppermint moss,  
> Robottko


	8. Of Mycroft and Men

Ch. 8

John Watson’s P.O.V.

As soon as Harrison left, John began to search the small caged area. Though it was pressed up against the sliding glass doors that separated the lounge from the kitchen, the entire area was impenetrable, neither the doors, nor the bars shifting even an inch. John let out a frustrated groan, sitting down on the ground. He frowned when he felt something dig into his hip, and he nearly let out a small cry when he realized that Harrison had forgotten to take away his mobile. John quickly typed out a warning text to Mycroft Holmes.

**_Mycroft, your brother’s alive, and he's gone insane. Completely insane. He's going to kill you. Sherlock's still there, but he's not in control I don't know what to do. –JW_ **

John shifted so he was cross-legged on the ground. The lights of the flat shone through the bars, creating oddly shaped shadows across the screen of his mobile. A text from Mycroft came through only a minute later, and John’s hands shook slightly as he opened the message.

**_Why on earth why Sherlock choose to kill me? –Mycroft_ **

John typed his response quickly, hoping that Mycroft would get the hell out of his house before Harrison arrived.

**_Mycroft, he's gone insane. It's all my fault. He's calling himself John Harrison and he's going to kill you. Your brother's not your brother anymore. –JW_ **

John sent the message, his thumb pressing down on the button harder than necessary, as if Mycroft would be able to feel his urgency if he pressed the send button harder. The response came in almost immediately afterwards.

**_How exactly did my brother go insane? –Mycroft_ **

John swallowed thickly, the question filling his stomach with heavy guilt. His reply to Mycroft took longer to send out, and he knew that little detail wouldn’t get past the man. He was, after all, related to Sherlock.

**_It's my fault. I thought I fell out of love and I didn't think I could handle being with him anymore, so I told him I was going to leave and he didn't take it well. Now he's insane and he's killing left and right. –JW_ **

Letting his head fall back against the bars of the prison, John let out a tiny sigh. These past few weeks had been absolute hell, but today had really taken the prize. The sound of his phone chiming his text alert drew him away from his thoughts.

**_You fell out of love? Further proof that love is merely a reaction of chemicals, nothing more. Shame, I had high hopes for you two. Now, why is my brother...or rather Mr. Harrison, going to kill me? –Mycroft_ **

John grimaced at the message, reading it several times before replying. Mycroft would look at what had happened as proof that love didn’t exist, even though he had clearly been interested in Detective Inspector Lestrade.

**_I don't know. I think he just wants to torture the part of Sherlock that's still left in him. –JW_ **

Perhaps he should tell Mycroft about what happened to Lestrade. It would be so impersonal if Harrison told him. He may have Sherlock’s body, but John was certain that he would use the event to torture Mycroft…

**_I suppose killing me would do that, wouldn't it. Why didn't he kill you? Not that I want you dead, of course. Simply curious. -Mycroft_ **

Thought derailed, John typed back to Mycroft quickly. It didn’t seem as if he wanted to leave his office at all, and the thought of Harrison killing him was terrible. The little bit of Sherlock still left in Harrison would be irrevocably damaged.

**_I don't know. He seems to like me. He locked me in the flat. Called it a cell. -JW_ **

John tapped his fingers impatiently, waiting for Mycroft to respond. A full minute later, his mobile chimed, and John hurried to read the message.

**_That little bit of Sherlock is what's keeping you alive, I presume. I'll see if I can talk him out of this when he arrives.  -Mycroft_ **

John drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. He wondered if Mycroft was really a big enough idiot to have a chat with his clearly insane little brother who was hell-bent on killing him.

**_Don't! He's not sensible. He'll kill you without a second thought. -JW_ **

John sent the message, his phone chiming not too long afterwards. Clearly Harrison hadn’t arrived yet if Mycroft was still texting him.

**_Would you rather I left this Harrison? You seem to like him better than Sherlock. -Mycroft_ **

John bit the inside of his cheek, holding back several choice swear words, even though it was wholly unnecessary.

**_I don't want you to die. If you do, then Sherlock will be completely broken, and the bit of him that's left will be gone. –JW_ **

John sent the message, hoping his point got across. Even though he had never been on friendly terms with Mycroft, he didn’t want the man to die either.

**_Why does it matter? I didn't think you cared for him anymore. –Mycroft_ **

John sat, frozen in shock at the effect those simple words had on him. They were truly the crux of the issue. John still cared for Sherlock, and while Harrison made him feel needed, Sherlock made him feel _loved._

**_I still care for him, Mycroft. -JW_ **

It was the truth too. John still cared for Sherlock Holmes, loved him, wanted him. The idea of Harrison destroying Sherlock completely was abhorrent.

**_Then I must talk to him. –Mycroft_ **

He shook his head, exasperated with the stubbornness of the Holmes family in general. He typed his reply quickly, hoping that his message would get through the thick skull of the British Government.

**_He will kill you, do you understand? -JW_ **

John sent the message, praying that Mycroft would take his warning seriously. When his phone chimed, however, he knew that would not be the case.

**_I am not so easy to kill, Doctor Watson. But I thank you for your concern. –Mycroft_ **

With a roll of his eyes, John replied. It was hardly surprising that Mycroft would be cocky about his abilities to keep himself alive. He could imagine the idiot boasting about how many assassination attempts had been made on his life.

**_I mean it. He won't listen to you, and you can’t risk your life.  If you die, so does Sherlock. –JW_ **

Perhaps this text would work. Perhaps Mycroft would stop being a complete idiot and take this threat seriously. When John’s mobile chimed, however, he expected another comment about Sherlock, and how difficult it was to kill him.

**_Where has Sherlock locked you up? –Mycroft_ **

John stared at the screen of his phone in confusion for a few seconds, surprised that Mycroft actually seemed to be taking him seriously.

**_The flat. He's locked it. –JW_ **

John stood, his muscles stiff from sitting so long. It was beginning to get dark, and Harrison hadn’t turned on any lights, so John couldn’t figure out what time it was. John stretched slowly as he waited for Mycroft’s response.

**_221B is hardly difficult to break in to, Doctor Watson. I shall see you soon. –Mycroft_ **

John let out a great sigh, leaning once more against the bars. It wasn’t any more comfortable standing up than sitting down, but John felt completely useless in the stupid metal cage he was in. John paced around for twenty minutes, ready to give it up as a bad job when he heard the door downstairs open. His heart leapt into his throat, but when he heard Mycroft’s voice calling for him, he let out an audible sigh.

“I’m here!” John called, and he watched as Mycroft entered the room, his face a mask of professionalism. “Mycroft, I have something to tell you. Just in case Harrison say’s something, I wanted-”

“I assume you are talking about Gregory Lestrade’s death?” Mycroft asked, an eyebrow raising. To any outsider, he might look unaffected, but John was a professional at reading the expressions of the Holmes boys.

“Yes, the whole thing was my idea.” John said. “But it’s-”

“We shall discuss this later.” Mycroft said sharply, effectively cutting John off. “First, we need to get you out of here.”

“Out of 221B, or out of London?” John asked.

“221B first, of course.” Mycroft said. “But leaving London would be a good idea. Getting you as far away from Harrison as possible is my main concern.”

“We need Sherlock back.” John said softly as Mycroft studied the lock to the prison. “The only way we can do that is by making the bit of him in Harrison stronger.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow at John.

“I don’t know.” John sighed. “But there has to be something we can do.”

A deep laugh echoed through the flat, its source standing directly behind Mycroft. The two men flinched, Mycroft whipping around to look at the dark cladded figure.

“Oh, Johnny boy. I thought you liked me.” Harrison said, his eyes glinting dangerously. “No? Are you having too much fun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today (August 31st) is my birthday, so as a birthday present to each and every one of you, a chapter from me! (Sorry, I would give you something better, but I lack the amazing writing skills that the fandom classics have. Hope this will do!) Bless every single one of you for waiting oh so patiently for me to update. I apologize profusely for making you all wait for two months, personal drama has gotten in the way of so much, even when it technically isn't my drama, but one of my family members. It's really made sitting down to write impossible though, and for that, I am sorry. 
> 
> We are coming to the climax of our story, and I do hope you like it, for I did very much. The next few chapters should be coming out quickly, and I very much hope that another dramatic instance does not arrive to keep me from writing once more. 
> 
> Pistachio chips and sonar blips,  
> Robottko


	9. gunshots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quietly slides in*  
> *leaves chapter*  
> *runs away and hides*

John Harrison’s P.O.V.

“You’re insane!” John hissed at him through the cage, his arm twisting behind his back to hide the mobile that he was holding, though Harrison already knew it was there. “And you’re not going to fool me any longer.”

Harrison chuckled at John’s glare, ignoring the bit of Sherlock inside him that was trying to claw his way out. “Oh, sweetie, I thought you _enjoyed_ killing Lestrade?” He murmured, giving Mycroft a cursory glance before giving John his full attention.

“I didn’t kill him.” John said, a smug look on his face. Harrison froze, looking at John with a mixture of confusion, anger, and joy. “Lestrade is still alive.”

“That’s-”

“Impossible?” John cut Harrison off, “No, not really. I saw him nearly every day since Sherlock vanished. When I found out that Sherlock was still alive in you, I told Lestrade.”

The conflicting emotions swelled inside Harrison, Sherlock nearly crying tears of relief, and Harrison feeling murderously angry. “And so you planned this?”

“I did, yes.” John said, looking defiant. “Well…not this part, of course. I didn’t think you would lock me up.”

Sherlock’s joy began to affect Harrison, and the anger at John’s betrayal dissipated. Instead, a strange feeling of mirth spread through him, causing him to burst out laughing.

“Oh, _John_!” Harrison beamed, pressing himself up against the bars, making John back away, hitting the nearest wall. “You managed to fool even _me!_ Oh, the fun we could have together!”

“You’re a monster.” John spat out. Harrison leered at him through the bars.

“And you like that. Don’t think you can hide your excitement from me, John. I can see your pulse racing. You crave excitement, and I can give that to you.”

“You give me adrenaline.” John shot back, still huddled against the wall. Out of the corner of Harrison’s vision, he saw Mycroft shift slightly, and he shot the man a glare before turning back to John.

“My _brother_ is getting antsy.” Harrison remarked. “Perhaps I should kill him before Lestrade arrives…I am assuming that’s why you are still hiding your mobile behind your back.”

John’s arm, which had been holding the mobile, flopped to his side, the screen just flickering off. Harrison hummed his approval, stepping away from the wall of the cage and turning so he could face both Mycroft and John.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t join Moriarty when he was rampant.” Harrison commented offhandedly, his eyes fixed on Mycroft now, clearly thinking of all the different ways he could destroy the man.

“Because Moriarty would have killed Sherlock.” John replied softly. “And Sherlock happened to be someone I cared about.”

Harrison pulled a small knife out of his pocket, twirling it around deftly in his fingers. He glanced up to see Mycroft eyeing him warily, his forehead shiny with sweat. “There’s that tricky past tense again.” Sherlock sing-songed, “You cared then, but you don’t care now. You don’t mind that I am destroying Sherlock bit by bit.” He smirked slightly, stalking towards Mycroft, who stayed frozen in place.

“I do still care about him!” John said, his voice taking on a hint of panic. “He’s my friend. And you’re not him!”

“John, I-” Sherlock broke through momentarily, making Harrison freeze in place for a second, attempting to regain control. “You cared about him so much that you broke his heart! You said you enjoyed _me_ because you felt needed, but _Sherly_ needed you too, and you spat all over that. No, John Watson, you grew _bored_ of Sherlock. You want me instead.”

“Sherlock, I know you’re still in there.” John said, and Harrison turned to glare at John. “I need you to be strong…take back control.”

Harrison’s body began to tremble as Sherlock attempted to take back control. “No, he never loved you. _Never!_ ” He hissed to himself, turning away from a stricken looking John to a horrified Mycroft. Harrison lunged forward, grabbing the well-dressed man by his lapels. “Why, hello brother.”

“Mycroft, you have to get away!” John called, as if Mycroft wasn’t already struggling against his grip. “He doesn’t care about you. Sherlock did, but Harrison doesn’t!”

“Well, that’s just not true!” Harrison leered down at him. “I care _very_ much about you, Mycroft. I care about how much you control…I care how lovely your blood will look on our walls…” A strong tremor wracked Harrison’s body, and he let Mycroft go, falling to the floor. He closed his eyes briefly, and Sherlock opened them, looking up at his brother in horror. Sherlock quickly reached into his leather coat pocket and pulled out the key, tossing it to Mycroft before Harrison could regain control. “Get out of here…both of you.”

Mycroft darted around Sherlock, unlocking John’s cell. John walked out of the cell, standing next to where Sherlock was kneeling, not daring to touch the man. Sherlock, still shaking, scooted away from John as if he were diseased.

“Mycroft, get him out of here.” Sherlock demanded, rising slowly from the floor. “You can come back to finish me off…”

“I can’t leave you.” John argued as Sherlock reached out to grab hold of the makeshift prison, holding himself up. “Not until I know Harrison is gone…”

“I don’t think he’ll leave, John.” Sherlock said softly, his eyes closing so he couldn’t see John’s reactions. “Mycroft...he’ll get someone to shoot me in the head, destroy him completely.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft’s voice was low, thick with hidden emotion.

“It is unavoidable.” Sherlock responded. “Lestrade could possibly do it. He’s coming up the stairs now.”

Sure enough, a dull thudding could be heard in the lounge of 221B, Lestrade, and what sounded to be four or five officers running up the stairs. Sherlock’s eyes opened to see an upset looking John staring at him, ignoring the police as they entered the flat, all guns pointing at the criminal.

“No, you can’t die.” John growled.

“John, it’s alright.” Sherlock said, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes forming on his face. “This way….you don’t have to feel guilty about me, either. You can live your life, be happy. Just know that…that I’ll always love you.”

“Stop it, Sherlock. Just- shut up.” John shook his head, “I’m not letting him win, and you can’t let him win, either. You’re better than him. I was wrong.”

“No, John. I’m better. At everything.” Harrison managed to sneak through Sherlock’s defences. He watched John wince, stamping down Harrison quickly. “John…I can’t have you stuck with me, afraid to leave because you think that bastard will return if you do.”

Sherlock, with the aid of the bars, walked into the makeshift prison, closing the door behind him with an air of finality. “I would rather be a fond memory in your heart than an iron ball at your ankle.” Sherlock gave the bars a quick shake, satisfied at how sturdy they were. He looked up at John whose eyes were distraught. “I love you, John Hamish Watson. Mycroft, please take him outside.”

“Isn’t there something you can do?” John asked Mycroft, turning to the elder Holmes. “Anything?” A quick shake of the head answered his pleading, and the blond turned to Sherlock once more.

“John…” Sherlock extended his hand, reaching for John as he did all those years ago from the rooftop of St. Bart’s. “Please leave. I don’t want you to see this.”

Sherlock was surprised when John laced his fingers through his own, clasping his hand tightly. “I can’t leave you…I can’t.” John whispered.

“You have to, John.” Sherlock smiled weakly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. After all, I had your love once.”

“This is all my fault.” John said, squeezing his hand tighter. “I am so sorry, Sherlock.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Sherlock corrected gently, bringing John’s hand to his lips briefly. “I never deserved your love. Now, let me do something for you. Mycroft, Lestrade, I believe you will have to removed John from the room by force.”

“I can’t leave you.” John shook his head frantically. “I can’t…I loved you, I still care about you. Please, I can’t just abandon you.”

“You’re not abandoning me.” Sherlock said as Lestrade grabbed hold of John’s arm. He could see the conflict in the Detective Inspector’s eyes, the disgust at what Sherlock had done and the worry for his friend mixed together in his eyes. “Lestrade should leave as well.”

Mycroft shot Sherlock an unreadable look before walking over to join Lestrade and John, leading them towards the door. One of the officers began preparing his gun, checking it for debris and making sure it was polished before flicking the safety off.

“No!” John hollered, struggling against the gently arms of Mycroft and Lestrade. “No, you can’t do this, you can’t kill him!”

“What do you suggest we do?” Mycroft asked as they reached the open door. Sherlock was startled to see tears on the elder’s cheek. “He’s my brother…but he’s also the worst terrorist the world has ever seen. Do you suggest we let him walk free?”

“If you kill anyone, it should be me!” John cried, tugging still. “Harrison was after me, wanted me. Maybe if I were gone, he would vanish.”

“No.” Sherlock growled, easily heard from the doorway. “You are innocent. More physical force seems to be necessary, Mycroft.”

Sherlock turned to look at the shooter, a man he did not know. That was probably for the best, however. Sherlock couldn’t imagine anyone he knew having to kill him. It would end disastrously, either with him dying a painful death out of spite, or out of a desire not to kill him. The gun was aimed at his head, the gunman unflinching, and an expert in his job.

“NO!” John yelled, trying to get to Sherlock, to the gunman.

_Goodbye, John._

The resulting gunshot was deafening.


	10. Chapter 10

Ch 10

John Watson’s P.O.V

“NO!” John wrenched himself out of Lestrade and Mycroft’s arms, tackling the gunman as the shot went off. “I won’t let you kill him!”

The man crumpled beneath him easily, and John scrambled back up to see Sherlock, terror clenching at his heart. He was leaning against the bars, and John could see blood already coating his neck. John sucked in a breath that sounded more like a sob, and ran over to the cage, falling to his knees in front of Sherlock.

“Oh god.” He cursed. “Oh god, Sherlock? Please answer me. Oh _god._ ”

A small groan answered him, and John’s eyes widened as he leaned forward, nearly pressing his face to the bars, attempting to see his detective, and hoping that it was no longer John Harrison that was controlling him.

“John.” Sherlock breathed. “I’m fine. It’s really…it’s just a flesh wound. Nicked me, is all.”

“You’re alive.” John cried, reaching through the bars to touch Sherlock’s face. “Oh god, you’re alive.”

“Of course I’m alive.” Sherlock replied, trying to sound haughty and failing miserably. “You know that it’s far more difficult to kill me than that.”

John let out a choked laugh, smoothing his hands along Sherlock’s cheekbones, trailing down to examine the gunshot wound. A minor thing, really, but it could have been so much worse.

“Sherlock still has to go to prison, you know.” A soft voice said behind them, and John turned to see a miserable looking Lestrade. “He’s killed people, that can’t go unpunished.”

“I know.” Sherlock said, and John let out a small sound of annoyance as Sherlock pulled himself out of John’s hands, using the bars of the cage to pull himself up. “I must pay for what I’ve done.”

“But what if Harrison comes back?” John asked, standing as well, his eyes now locked on Sherlock. “I can’t have that happen.”

“He isn’t coming back.” Sherlock replied softly. “You made sure of that, John. Here, I want you to have something…”

Sherlock stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small leather box. He handed it to John, who opened it quickly, sucking in a breath at what was inside.

A ring, coated in pure platinum, lay nestled inside. John looked up at Sherlock, who smiled sadly at the ring, wistfulness on his face.

“I was going to ask you to marry me.” He said unnecessarily, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “That day you broke up with me. I am not proposing to you now, of course, merely offering it as proof that I once had a heart. You once had my heart.”

“Sherlock…”

“Do whatever you like with it. Sell it, keep it. It is yours. I hope that if you keep it, you are reminded of me in only the best ways possible.” Sherlock finished.

John stared at the ring before taking it out of the box, slipping it on the third finger of his left hand. Sherlock made a small noise at the gesture, but said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” John said. “I still love you, and I will go to the ends of the earth to protect you.”

“You do?” Sherlock’s voice was rough with emotion.

“Yes.” John smiled weakly. “I just needed to be reminded. I wish John Harrison hadn’t been that reminder.”

“Sherlock, we need to go.” Mycroft cut it, and both men turned to look at him.

“Yes, we do.” Sherlock nodded. He turned once more to John as Mycroft came over to the makeshift prison, unlocking the door. “I am sorry, but I have to leave now. I shall always be with you.”

“And I with you.” John said, struggling to keep himself from tackling Lestrade to the floor as he cuffed Sherlock’s hands behind his back. “Stay safe, alright?”

“You as well.” Sherlock replied, and he was lead out of 221B for the last time, his destination the local jail where he would be held until his court date. No one noticed as the short blond doctor fell to the floor in grief, cradling the hand that the ring adorned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is it! The very last chapter. This fic has been nearly a year in the making (which it really shouldn't have been. It started off as an RP on omegle, so it was already basically written, I just tweaked a few things.) My thanks goes out to [Slenderlock](http://slenderlock.tumblr.com//) on tumblr, who was my amazing rp partner. She's who you have to thank for the gorgeous John, and for me not killing Sherlock, which I almost did. My thanks also goes out to all of you who are reading this. Seriously, I never expected any of my writings to get more that a few follows. (or any at all, really) and you have all been so wonderful and so supportive. I don't know what I did to deserve you wonderful people, but apparently it was really, really good things! 
> 
> I know this fic has a very open ended finish. That's sort of how our rp ended (though slightly happier. Sherlock was aquitted of all guilt, which I needed while I was a sobbing wreck at four in the morning, but I decided later that it was just too unrealistic.) I like open endedness, because you can create a scenario of how it really ends in your mind (does John break Sherlock out of jail? Does John join Sherlock in jail...oh god, I need to stop or I'll start writing a sequel!)
> 
> Tell me what you think! And remember, you can always visit my [Tumblr page](http://robottko.tumblr.com/) and request ficlets and stories and even sequels of things if you so desire. Bless every single one of you, and have a marvellous 2014!
> 
> Magpie dreams and chocolate icecreams!  
> Robottko


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